The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim (2 page)

It took nearly an hour for the entire caravan to regroup. By that point half of the men had emptied out of the transports and laid out in the grass to sleep or talk. Tight muscles stretched against gray cotton as they worked the knots out of their cramped legs and backs. About two-thirds of the vehicles contained soldiers, armed and ready to act as both rear and vanguard for the returning reconnaissance unit. The rest of the vehicles contained basic supplies.

Things were getting more frustrating than usual for Vasquez. If there was one thing he hated, it was waiting. And thanks to their orders to maintain communications silence, he had to do just that to yell at each driver individually rather than scream at them all at once over a wireless. Most everyone knew the major enjoyed the yelling about as much as any part of his job.

“
What are you clods doing laying about?” Vasquez was back up the hill and on the sleepers like a crotchety panther. “Get your asses up and back in those trucks! We have men's lives in our hands. Move!”

They obliged, though not quickly. It was a rare day that Vasquez didn't yell at someone in the battalion to do something. In fact, any day they didn't get yelled at tended to send their stress levels through the roof. Especially when the major had assigned himself to a particular unit. Something must be wrong if Vascular Vasquez wasn't popping veins. So, at present, everything was probably fine.

To Vasquez the worst part of being in the military could be summed up in the old cliché “Hurry up and wait.” He was always being told, and thus in turn telling others to get moving. But inevitably there was nothing to do once they arrived at their rushed destination. Sitting around with nothing to do made him twitch. Not so much that he thought others could notice, but he was paranoid that they could.

He had just given up the pipe the week before as well. That wasn't helping his nerves. Not one bit. The left side of his mustache jumped at his nose as he watched his men get moving. Half of them were sauntering back to the vehicles when the major felt a hand on his arm.

“
Sir.” It was Reynolds. “Hold on, sir.” He signaled for the men to stop. “Hold up!”

“
What the hell, Reynolds? Are you trying to undermi–”

“
Sir, please.” He held a finger to his lips then extended it to point at a nearby hill.

They stood in the near-silence of the waxing afternoon. The breeze carried a gentle tone as it brushed through the tall grasses and rustled what few dead leaves dangled nearby. The sky hung broad and open, betraying what few clouds floated by to the unforgiving brilliance of the sun. Nothing presented itself.

“
Well what the hell is it then?” Vasquez couldn't wait any longer. God he hated waiting.

“
I could have sworn I saw somet–”

Reynolds' words were washed away by a snarl and a scream. Something gurgled and roared from the bottom of the hill. The life of a soldier released in the high-pitched throes of death.

Every man on the hill jumped to his feet and charged his weapon without a moment's hesitation.

“
Rennat, Boyd, Sartmouth, form up on me. The rest of you take cover and watch our backs.”
Vasquez didn't hesitate to move towards trouble. He'd earned a number of nicknames over the course of
his career. Of the few he knew, Black Bulldog was probably the most accurate.

Men from the bottom of the hill scrambled from their trucks. Many of them fell as they ran, others stopped and stared towards the rear of the convoy. What had caused the commotion remained a mystery. The hairs on Vasquez's neck stood upright and writhing as he lowered his stance and moved forward.

The major raised his assault rifle to his shoulder, slowing and scanning the thick rocks and grasses that surrounded them.

“
Sir, on the other side of the convoy.”

“
I thought I told you to watch my back, Reynolds.”

“
I can do that best from your side, sir.” Reynolds nodded curtly.

Reynolds was a good man, Vasquez noted to himself as they moved forward. He needed to push that paperwork through on the his advancement.

The five soldiers moved between two trucks in the line and slowed as they came to the other side. Blood splattered all along the length of the farthest truck. It blended into the black paint well. The metal looked like it was sweating.

“
Holy shit...”

“
What the hell, sir?”

Two men stood in shock fifty yards on, staring into the tall grass as if it might burst into flames at any moment. From where they stood, Vasquez could only see them from the waist up. They turned in place as they watched. And then, in a flash, they were dragged to the ground in a writhing, screaming, bloody mess. The five men took an involuntary step back as red ruin sprayed and scattered to the breeze.

“
Get your men to the top of the hill, Captain.”

“
Sir?” Reynolds hesitated to obey.

“
Do it, now. I'll be right behind you.”

Without any further discussion, Captain Reynolds backtracked and began gathering the scattered soldiers as they scrambled up the slope. They were almost to the summit before shots rang out from below. The captain whipped around, eyes darting along the motionless convoy as more shots fired and intermingled with screams. A low, guttural rumble came from among the trucks, spreading and intensifying as the screams died out and went still.

What's happening?

He rallied his men, placing the better shots on top of the rocks that rung the summit of the low hill. He grabbed the rest and shoved them in the gaps, facing out in all directions. Their black rifles jutted out like burnt twigs among the dormant foliage of the wilderness.

Reynolds could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. His heart was pounding. The grass wasn't so tall when standing, but as soon as he knelt it became a maddening obstruction to his sight. Thin, wispy, brown stalks that veiled everything. He vainly brushed some to the side, failing to do more than reveal even more grass beyond.

The wind twirled around the crest of the hill. Its gentle presence belied the weight resting on the soldiers' minds. They were good men, Reynolds assured himself. They could handle their own. He cleared his throat.

“
Men.” He hoped he sounded more brave than he felt. “Shout 'em out when you spot 'em. Don't let us down and die before you tell us where your death is coming from.”

The joke elicited no laughter. It felt morbid even to Reynolds as their fate drew near. What was going on? Where was Vasquez?

Scuttling noises could be heard over the rocks below. Soon the hillside was covered in the noise of claws on stone and shifting grass. The low growl began to build from the direction of the closest truck.

“
Sir! West by north-west, sir!”

“
South by south-east, sir!”

The directions began to flow out of his men as Reynolds craned his neck to see above the grass.

“
Fire at will, damnit!”

And with that, the men on the rocks began unloading at ghosts in the weeds. Inhuman, gravelly screams erupted in response. Reynolds' head was spinning as he turned from rock to rock. Trying to see who was shooting at what. Then the men between the stones began to fire as well. The growls and howls of a thousand demons filled the captain's ears. He couldn't regain his orientation as he spun.

And then the first rock was cleared. In a blur of black and blood the two men on top of the southern-most stone were gone. Screams rose and fell as the men on the other rocks vanished. Soon the gaps were clearing and the firing was ceasing. Suddenly, Captain Reynolds found himself crouched in the midst of a very empty, very silent battlefield.

He pressed his cheek into the stock of his rifle. He hadn't so much as placed his finger over the trigger. Everything had happened so quickly. The leather of his glove creaked abrasively in his ear as he clenched his weapon. His aim followed his eyes as they darted in every direction, searching for a target. His flat gray officer's cap sat off-kilter on the side of his head. Sweat beaded on his pale face in spite of the chilled breeze of early winter.

The grass moved against the wind to his left. Then to his right. The stalks quivered everywhere he looked. The low rumbling noise began afresh, growing to a feverish tenor as he waited. He grit his teeth and stood to face his death. Let it come. He would give it hell.

No sooner had the thought passed than black stench lunged at him from every direction. He fired his weapon, screaming his courage as dozens of dark blades tore into his flesh.

M
AJOR
A
NDERS
K
EATON PULLED THE TAN CLOAK OVER HIS FACE TO PROTECT IT FROM THE SAND
.
The wind had been merciless over the last two days of their hike through the desert. He felt like grit must have gotten into every crack and crevasse of his body by now. The sand could be as blinding as pulling his cloak up. The nice thing about walking through dunes and the low golden ripples was that there wasn't much to trip over. So long as he saw drops coming before he stepped over them.

“
I never thought deserts could get so damned cold.”

The lieutenant following him hadn't shut up about the weather for hours. To Keaton it felt like it had been a lifetime of endless whining.

“
I mean, hell sir, bright sandy nastiness like this should be boilin' hot, am I right? I mean, don't get me wrong, sir. I'm not complaining.” He was complaining. “But damned if I can't feel my feet. And my face! If it wasn't numb from the cold it'd be burning from the sand blown all across it.”

“I love how this sucks,” said one of the other Hunters behind him with a grunt.

The man next to him laughed. “I wish it would suck more.”

“But it does suck!” The whiner wouldn't be swayed. “God, I hate the cold.”

“
Shut up, Trall.” The captain of this unit was a God-send. “If there's sand blowing across your face, you don't know how to strap that mask on properly. Get back and relieve the rear.”

“
Aw, Captain. The rear is th–”

“
Did it sound like I was making suggestions? Get your ass to the rear.”

Trall slowed down to let his brothers pass him by, grumbling all the while about the injustice of pulling rearguard twice in two days.

“
Sorry about him, sir.” The captain was about Keaton's age, but you wouldn't have known from looking at them.

At least Keaton didn't think you would. The captain reminded him of himself just a few months before. Before he had seen his men killed by that little witch in the Rent. Before he had been saved by her friend and left to live where his men had died. It was amazing how much could happen in such a short span of time. How much a man could change. “It's no bother, Sykes. Not really. Part of command is learning to put up with some harmless whining. I've had to deal with my fair share.”

“
Aye, sir. But he was crossing the line. Not befitting a Hunter. He signed up for this, after all.”

“
True enough. But we both know Khrone's aren't what they used to be.” He would have spared the captain a smile had his face not been wrapped thoroughly behind layers of cloth and his leather mask. He was afraid his smooth-formed visor might even be getting scratched under the scathing windblown sand. Sykes was about the only name he had taken the time to learn in this unit. He felt no urge to get close to any of them. Especially given the nature of their mission. The thought of befriending them brought about the urge to turn and run. Nameless ghosts were far less effective in their haunt.

“
Sir, may I ask some frank questions? I'm confused on a number of fronts.”

“
You may.” Keaton knew what questions were coming. The captain was sharp; they'd be the same questions he would be asking in this situation.

“
What's going on, sir?”

“
Too vague, Captain.”

“
I mean, what's going on with all the talk of war? Our intel is bad, sir. Liscentia isn't mobilizing, and if they are – they're doing a damned good job of hiding it.”

“
Agreed.”

“
So why are we so convinced they're aching for a fight?”

“
Isn't that why we're here? To see if we're right or not?”

“
You really think so, sir?” Sykes hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I don't mean to sound seditious, but are you sure we aren't just a courtesy to the more tender consciences among the brass?”

Sharp kid
, Keaton thought. “What makes you think that, Captain?”

“Well
, sir. To be honest, when they attached you to my Hunters I thought we were in trouble. Not on account of you directly, sir. But it's no secret you oppose action against the south, and it's less of a secret that Rast would pay to get you killed.”

True enough.
Keaton was impressed, if not a little distressed by the captain's awareness of his personal conflicts.

“
Well, point is sir, nothing's going on here. But I don't think anyone's gonna listen to you. To us. I'm starting to see that the desire for war is overruling everything else. Which raises the question of why you were attached to us at all.”

“
It's not for lack of confidence in you, Sykes. You can rest assured in that.”

“
No, sir, I'm not worried about that.” The captain fell closer in step with his commander as he pulled his cloak closer about him. From more than twenty feet away, the two tan-clad Hunters disappeared completely in the granular fog. “I'm worried about you, sir.”

“
You're worried that I'm going to be sacrificed for the cause, are you?”